Mournful Man Minus Mate

Look and see; a tree stands alone atop a hill
One soldier nationless, wandering absent moto
Nowhere bound goose, silhouetted by the moon
Examine a sock with other lost, no longer fit to use
Left in a drawer untouched, like a lock missing keys
Inert is the book with ideas lacking, empty but folio
Even right needs left, and darkness light to hide from
Reckless is the man fording life’s tides without a mate

From giddy girl to beautiful butterfly

I once met a girl and wondered on her skill
I once met a girl and she seemed so reserved
I once met a girl dressed modest yet frill
A girl tender as a child, giggled and squirmed

She spoke to me with a smile unnerved
She talked to me longer each passing
She conversed with me seriously concerned
Attentive and calm, listening is compassion

We walked and talked after a fashion
We teased and taunted like old friends
We tested each other to see what happens
A confiding struggle, encouragement lends

This woman on occasion like a girl pretends
This woman possesses intelligence and whit
This woman captures beauty through a lens
Admitting inner weakness, builds an outer grit

To her these words are written, fret not you are legit
Forget worm’s ways spreading your wings in new life
Remember black brightens blue so don’t hesitate to air it
 You are gorgeous in kind like that darling butterfly

Silly butterfly such stunning beauty, oh-my,
Silly butterfly no longer you of old but new,
Silly butterfly not halfway, that worm truly died.
Be not confused by purity so absolute and true.

Good friend, know when you hurt, I cry too.
Good friend, you seem to see inside me.
Good friend so true no matter what I do.
Be a mirror to goodness, reflect with glee.

Promised one these implications I see.
Promised one welcome change don’t remain.
Promised one, my honor commands I flee.
Be that woman, even as I act the slain.

The girl who I thought so fun and strange.
The girl grew and changed in ways she can’t undo.
The girl is a woman like none the same.
She took her time, but he knew.

Tangled Threads, Mangled Hearts

Oh how strange are the threads of communication between men and their opposites?
The dance of life entangles and entwines them in a web of confusion.
At some point when the cords are wrapped around us, we stop and wonder at the cause of it.
What is it that prevents us from connecting, what is it that leads to this indecision?

There are the treacherous and the vile, who weave their webs so dark to deceive
With hearts buried so deep, they can never show them, never
A game this has become, to pray on the hearts of the naïve
Those that fall into the trap escape once their hearts have been severed

So it goes on, the heartless consuming the hearts of others
The chain reaction, the endless meat grinder
Some see it and run for the price of failure isn’t worth the bother
Though we all have wounded hearts, would we risk it again to find her?

We must dance past the tangled mess to protect what matters
Peer into the churning darkness for a heart that still shines
A heart that pulses with the same light that seeps between the fetters
Sometimes we trip on the way and fall still others are blinded

Many hearts go out or switch colors in flight
Some hearts blink from shade to shade like lights on a tree
Other hearts are steady, sweeping the night
My heart is dim, sputtering in search of thee

Silver Mist in Eternity

“Serenity” whispers the silver creek as it slides by.
Clear waters slowly twirl beneath the glassy ripples.
Twigs bob and twist, yielding to the gentle flow.
Brush, trees, rocks, and ferns, reflected by the journey.
Where from, where to, from highest heights to deepest sleep?
Thoughts pondered by the faces, reflecting in life’s stream.

The rush begins, the rocks break in, churning and chirping.
Frantic waters dance and jump in the rushing chorus.
Irresistible the descending tugs, no stopping now they sing.
A downward race, hurry, hurry, little stream, don’t be late.
No time now for questions, no question to the course.
Follow the flow, think not, just feel the yearning to descend.

Foaming, jostling, tumbling in the mounting momentum.
One moment of turmoil and then all are swept away.
Separated, dropping, falling, like pouring rain, unending rain.
Time seems to stop, for those drops shot from the cliff.
No going back, forward the downward deluge flings.
Deafening the sound, of the falling, mingled shouts resounding.

Most are dashed upon the rocks, fallen, height now spent.
Still hope springs, in the silver mist suspended in the air,
Separated from the flow, shirking the beckoning ground,
More still are called up from the watery grave, rising in the wind.
A silver cloud, witness to the trauma of the fall and rising in the son.
Rainbows glow in the mist, rays of color form this blessed sign.

The fallen waters mourn in rapid’s wake, on to that destined deep.
All around echoing their dying sounds, fading into the night.
Beyond the bend at last, gone from sight, no way but down.
The misty few are drawn heavenward no longer bound,
What can keep them now from floating with the four winds?
Such is the story of the silver creek, mist or fall, tis eternity.

The Presence of a Cheerful Person

On meeting you and seeing you,
A spark of light burning bright,
Eyes dancing with the rays,
Could this be genuine joy?

Something in the smile.
Something in the squint.
As if a secret tickled thoughts,
Cherished but shining out.

What dull finish could resist?
What monotony wouldn’t fade?
A force and power found,
In the magic aura of that face.

To those you meet, a gift,
Remembered with a sigh.
Guarding the source of the grin,
May you twinkle on in life.

Few candles can compare,
Burning, flickering, illuminating,
Drawing in, filled, and flinging out,
May you never let it fade.